


Hurt

by iridescentzen



Category: Desperate Housewives
Genre: Dark, F/F, F/M, Sad, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentzen/pseuds/iridescentzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bree was drowning, holding the glass like a lifesaver. If she held it any tighter it would break into shards beneath her white-knuckled grip and cut her hand to shreds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

Title: Hurt   
Author: iridescentZen

\--

Lynette felt for Bree Van de Kamp. For her friend, for the woman who was so obviously grieving. Mourning her husband, the life they had together, and lately her lack of a relationship with her children. Not that Bree would ever say that, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to see the disrespect acted out any time Bree's children were in the room with her. Their every word was filled with venom, and it was obvious they took for granted everything that their mother did for them. All the sacrifices Bree had made in her life to accommodate them, to the be the best for them.

Bree for some reason had cut Lynette off completely. Ignored the fact that she still had a warm and willing lover, who wanted to help her transition from housewife to single mother. Who wanted to soothe that ache in her soul. Who wanted more conversation than small talk across their weekly poker party with the girls.

Eighteen years of marriage gone just like that; now a widow because her pharmacist wanted her husband out of the way. It gave Lynette the chills just thinking about it. That someone had ever schemed that way, was crazy that way. Crazy enough to switch pills on a prescription and kill someone slowly. To make them suffer for being lucky enough to have what you wanted.

If it bothered her enough to dwell on it, Lynette could only imagine what lengths Bree must have to go to in order to _forget_ it. There was still a friend in Lynette whether Bree wanted a friend or not. Still a lover that Bree can turn to, despite the fact that she passed out drunk after being entrusted with Lynette's children.

Lynette loved Bree, but she wouldn't be asking for babysitting services any time soon. She might even take her chances with Susan next time. And who knows what kind of innocuous danger lingered around with Susan's mojo? She'll just have to adjust. To cross her fingers and hope that Julie was home.

Mrs. McCluskey informed Lynette the other day with the wonderful news that she hadn't seen Bree Van de Kamp sleeping it off in a pretty evening gown on her front lawn recently. Lynette didn't want to feel false hope, so she peeked out from behind her blinds every morning just to make sure.

Though she knew Bree wouldn't want to see her, that she was still probably fuming over a dozen wine bottles picked through her trash and lined up, Lynette did not regret her action. She wanted at the very least to see how Bree was doing, so she made her way over, but all the lights were off. The car was in the driveway, so she took a chance and rounded to the back of the house. Bree sometimes sat outside alone, and Lynette was certain she would find her there.

Bree was in her backyard, reclined on a wooden lawn chair, a bottle of wine on freshly mowed grass next to her and a glass full of the bubbly alcohol at her lips. She took a sip while giving Lynette a cold stare over the rim of her glass, daring her to do or say something.

Daring Lynette to say or do something to hurt her.

Lynette decided that she wouldn't rise to the bait.

Instead, she walked over to Bree, picking the bottle up from the ground on her way. It was light in her hand, its contents low.

Bree was drowning, holding the glass like a lifesaver. If she held it any tighter it would break into shards beneath her white-knuckled grip and cut her hand to shreds.

With a level stare, Bree said, "Please leave, Lynette." Though her voice was slightly slurred, she was still polite as ever.

"You gonna make me?" Lynette challenged, her tone much more defensive than she intended.

"Please, just ... leave me alone." Lynette felt the anger that she kept close to her like a shield crumble beneath the pleading tone of Bree's voice. "I'm ... I'm not hurting anyone," Bree reasoned.

Lynette sat on the ground beside the nearly empty bottle, and her widowed best friend who was possibly just as empty. She didn't care about grass stains or getting her clothes dirty, and the fact that Bree said nothing about either of those things frightened her.

"I love you, Bree," Lynette said the words with a steady stare. "I care because you're hurting you."

"It doesn't matter," Bree took another sip of wine, and to Lynette it was incredibly obvious that Bree meant what she said.

Lynette's hand moved of its own volition, stopping the glass before the wine could touch Bree's tongue. "It matters to me." She hoped that Bree understood that she meant it through her emphatic words.

Bree pursed her lips as though she was deep in thought. "Go home, Lynette. Go home to your loving husband, and what he gives you. Go home to your children that adore you, and leave me to my misery, okay?" There was definite spite there.

Lynette's hand moved to caress Bree's cheek, a soft touch that said more than anything that could ever come out of her mouth. That could ever be defined by words.

Their relationship was odd. It never felt like adultery. Never felt like cheating. Though Lynette would admit to squirming a little in church when the ten commandments were recited.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife.

Too late, she thought on that particular commandment, and reached for the reassurance of her husband's warm hand in her own. It was always there.

Always.

Bree couldn't say the same thing. She's free of her marriage, but only by tragic circumstances where the choice of leaving her husband was taken from her. Lynette's not stupid. She knew Bree would never leave Rex for her. Just like Lynette would never leave Tom. It was just the way it was. They had their families to look out for, and they always had each other right next door.

For whatever they needed.

Whenever they needed.

"I let George Williams touch me, Lynette," Bree's words jolted Lynette out of her reverie. "I let him inside me where no other _man_ but my husband had ever been." Bree's voice was filled with self-loathing. "I-I let him touch me because being used was better than being alone. He killed Rex and I let him touch me." Tears flowed from Bree's eyes and for a moment Lynette was taken completely by surprise. She had no idea that Bree ever reciprocated George Williams' feelings. That she was ever romantically involved with him or spent the night with him.

It was a kick to the gut.

Lynette was winded, but she'd soldier through it and feel the pain later. When she was done the mission.

Was there any way to make Bree feel better? Lynette doubted it, but she found herself rising from the ground to hold Bree in her embrace, and let those tears fall, drain the moat and let her guard down. "It's okay, honey. You couldn't have known."

"I can still feel his touch all over me. It will never be okay again, Lynette." Bree reached for the nearly empty wine bottle, but Lynette's hand stopped her again. "Sweet George Williams." Bree was shaking, hard, as if speaking the words made them real and broke the mold of denial that was so carefully crafted. "I killed my husband."

"No, you didn't," Lynette snapped. Her shoulders sagged visibly with regret. She hadn't meant to snap at Bree. Especially not at a drunk Bree.

Lynette leaned in to give Bree a chaste kiss on the cheek, but Bree turned her head so that their lips met, and Lynette's insides melted like butter. Like they always did when Bree kissed her.

Breaking free from a passion filled kiss of desperation, Lynette sighed. "Sweetie, the second-hand wine taste doesn't agree with me."

"Please don't leave me, Lynette. I need you." Bree wasn't bothering to hide the emotion, the desperation, the raw need that she felt, and Lynette felt it like it was solid all around her. This Bree was the real Bree. The hurting, grieving, lost Bree.

"I need you," Bree repeated.

"Come on," Lynette rose from the lawn chair and held out a helping hand to what would undoubtedly be an unsteady Bree, "Let's get you to bed. I'll call Tom and let him know I'm staying here tonight."

"Can you make me forget, Lynette?" The hope in Bree's eyes was absolutely breaking her. "Can you?"

"Forget?" Lynette prodded, not sure what it was exactly that Bree wanted to forget.

"Can you make me forget his touch?"

It was just like Bree to issue a challenge.

Lynette slowly began walking her friend to the backdoor of her house. "I'm damn well going to try." Trying wasn't good enough. 

They were almost at the door when she added softly, "I will, Bree. I promise I will."


End file.
